Posts Tagged ‘Poems about Anger’


A Bag Of Puckering Arseholes

“Oi!, if you bang on that front door
one more sodding time.
I’m throwing down this half-full
pot of piss onto the lot of ya.
I told you that as soon as the last kid
left home so would you be.
Now it’s been 3 months
get over it and move on already.
I’d call the Heddlu
but I’m not threatened in the slightest,
more irritated like.
It’s half past midnight for Christ Sake!
and you’ve brought
your 3 divorced friends ‘round
from The Lamb & Flag
with you for moral support.
Aww, my heart pumps piss for ya,
they couldn’t save
their own cowing marriages.
I’ll be Damned
if they’ll be doing owt for yours.
Now, fuck off and take ‘em
bag of puckering arsehole mates with ya
before I let the new dog out, ya useless cunt!”

© Paul Tristram 2016

 

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Respect where you came from

* I did want to include the world as a whole but could not find a collective of stats…

As a man
I say

STOP

all this
madness
defiling women
like it is our right
to desecrate the sanctity
of her womb
not even wipe your feet
before entering a room
do you kiss your mother with that mouth

in the united states alone
a woman is reported raped
once every 2 minutes

EVERY TWO MINUTES

and that’s just
the
ones

REPORTED

in the time it takes for me
to read you this poem

2 women have been raped

STOP

why do you defile
the place from which you came
those who gave you your name
you kiss your grandmother with that mouth

one third of the population
of the fairer sex
of a nation
has been raped
that means if you are a woman and have a woman sitting
on either side of you
one of you
has
be
raped

STOP

have you no shame
women have struggled
and died to give birth
every day
and you soil the
sanctity of that
’cause
of a
flame
in your
pants

YOU ARE NOT A MAN

you kiss your daughter with
that mouth

that mouth
the one your mother
held to her breast
to give you nourishment
and

LIFE

that mouth
that kisses your wife
& children before they go to bed

and the men of power let you out of jail
’cause there ain’t enough room
to house all the people that smoke
WEED

or do some other drug

probably to escape from the reality
of what you did to them
change lives
in the blink of an eye
without remorse
that could be

your daughter

your wife

your mother

and that is

THREE

so take your pick
it was probably

one
of
them

now bow your heads
and pray
for the two
that had to suffer
while you listened
to me
pray for their souls to be free


 

 

 

MY ANGER

 

 

 

 

I shove my anger in a drawer.

I stroll through fields, wallow in anthemis.

Sun gleams with fresh light.

You can do that when you’re not mad at anything.

 

My anger breathes better when it’s stowed away.

Though it’s far from me, in dark, it doesn’t know that

Underwear and socks, meet the stain on my heart.

Though it makes itself comfortable, it is still anger.

 

My anger is a fire in a cold, cold place.

It kills what comes close, mostly itself.

It becomes nostalgic, hasn’t seen a bruise in years.

 

I return home and let it out.

It joins me in restless sleep.

My body’s tanned a little.

My dreams have claws.